The International League of Party Planning
by Sarigo
Summary: "So Big Brother, who is this party for ?" Feliciano asked before leaning in and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he asked, "A girlfriend ?" "NO. DEFINITELY NOT. COMPLETE OPPOSITE, YOU NINCOMPOOP." "A boyfriend ?" This is a story about friendship. Rated T for racist jokes, vulgar language, severe amounts of llamas, and *implied* alcohol consumption. Collab. with KillerMay. :


**An. **Hey y'all, I'm German. You should PROBABLY know that before you continue reading and accuse me of being a rascist. )  
While you're at it, listen to "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist". Because we are. Some more than others.

I love you.  
Now review.

-Sarigo

* * *

Creaky doors were Arthur's least favorite type of doors. Mainly, because he was (almost) always hungover - and when he wasn't hungover, he was drunk. Arthur liked being drunk, but Alfred - codenamed "The Asshole" - decided that he got drunk too much and needed to stop. Normally, more alcohol was the best cure for the worst hangover.

Creaky doors, however, were one of the worst and actually only managed to make it worse. It would, of course, just so happen that his place of work would be full of creaky doors. The building was old (and gross, but that's mainly Francis' fault) and they didn't make enough to actually fix the doors, so they were stuck with them.

Sometimes, in fact _most_ of the time, Arthur regretted listening to Feliciano's sugar-induced rants of the amazingness of business ownership and friendship in the workplace. Maybe then, he wouldn't have given up his previous job of flower-arranging. It wasn't the most flashy job, but it paid decently and that was all he could ask for in this economy. He really just wanted to get on a boat to England, marry a woman, have nine children (all named Elizabeth and Sebastian), and grow old in a nice flat in which he could see the London Eye. But now-a-days, he could barely afford rent, much less a trip on a boat to his mother country and nine children.

Or a wife, who would more than likely be a gold-digging tramp.

Creaky. Fucking. Doors.

It certainly didn't help that after the creaky doors, the first thing he heard was the giggling of women. _A lot of women._

He vaguely thought he heard someone say hello when he walked in, but ignored it because he truly did not care. At all. What he did care about - apart from how badly the doors needed to be repaired - was the fact that Francis - codenamed "The Manwhore" - had approximately nineteen women (and one man) surrounding him in the back room. The motherfucking back room.

The back room was for employees only, and where Arthur would frequently go to escape all the loud hum-drum of outdoor life. It was rendered ineffective when other employees decided to break the rules and allow other people inside his safe haven.

Which was exactly what The Manwhore was doing now - whilest being watched by that creepy Asian guy, who appeared to be taking notes. He had a name, but everyone referred to him directly as "Creepy Asian Guy". His codename, however, was "Creepy Asian _Man_".

And if you honestly care enough to know, his real name is Kiku Honda. And he's Asian.

Arthur's attention was quickly removed from The Manwhore and Creepy Asian Man when Alfred decided to make his appearance.

"Hey dudes, what's up?" he said/yelled when he entered the room. The naturally loud voice of his colleague seemed even louder to Arthur in his hungover state. He turned towards Francis, and began speaking louder - since he was across the room. "Whoa, man - are we having a party in here? You didn't even ask me to help plan it! What the hell's wrong with you? Ah, whatever man! At least I'm here now and the REAL PARTY can get started! Hey ladies - wanna do some BODY SHOTS?"

Arthur approached him and, politely, grabbed his shirt collar. "Bloody, fuckin', hell - DO YOU EVER SHUT THE FUCK UP?"

His own voice was making his hangover even worse, but the satisfaction of yelling at this personification of the human ass was enough to make up for it.

"Whoa, dude - someone needs some body shots! Too bad I can't let you drink, you silly alcoholic, you~"

Arthur moved his lips towards his ear in what would normally, if it weren't Arthur and Alfred, be perceived as a sexual act. "I will bloody fuckin' end you, you dirty little minger. How would you like that, Billy no-mates?"

[If you would like to know what the hell he just said, let us Americanize it for you.

"I will kill you, you dirty little ugly-face. How would you like that, friendless loser?"

Things sound so much better in British.]

Instead of retaining anything he had just been told, Alfred pushed him away - laughing - and said, "Whoa man, no homo."

While Arthur went into a corner and cried - on the inside so as to not seem a pussy - Ludwig made his entrance.

Every workplace has one undesirable, cranky, rude, NAZI of man.

Unfortunately, this was not Ludwig.

Although he was slightly undesirable, and cranky, and rude, and a NAZI of a man - but not enough to be called these things. In fact, everyone would be this way if they had to work in such a place for so long. No, he was more of a "misplaced" young soak, whose only real friends were the Creepy Asian and the original owner of the facility.

[Let it be known the original owner of the facility has not been introduced yet. Don't shit your pants.

But let it also be known that Arthur's codename for Ludwig was "Weird 60's Kid". It was also "That Nazi", "Mein Kompf-y Chairman", "Vienna Sausage", "The Walking Gas Chamber", Anne Frank-ly many more.

Let it also be known that one of the authors of this story is German, and she is okay with us saying such horrible things. Although she is quite offended.]

"What...the hell...is GOING ON?"

He was looking at the harem Francis had created in the short twenty minutes he had gone to get coffee (laced with beer). Francis was beginning to explain, while Ludwig grabbed a broom from the well-placed Janitor's closet. While he spun an incredibly false story about how he was walking down the street and they all began following him and, since he wasn't a heartless bastard, he didn't want to leave them on the streets to fend for themselves, Ludwig began trying to literally sweep the strangers away.

He then slammed the door shut, being sure to slam it extra-violently for the occasion. Then, he turned back around to glare at Francis.

"Have you no shame? This is an employee-only area, and you bring twenty women-"

"Nineteen women, plus a man."

"TWENTY WOMEN into the back room? I can't even muster up the words for your stupidity-"

"Try using something along the lines of a 'barmy wanker'. Although, you should really try to say it quitely, Mr. Ludwig," Arthur said, clutching his head, on the verge of tears. Ludwig glared at him now, which was honestly, to put it lightly and as racism free as possible, frightening.

"AND YOU-" he now yelled, attention fully set on the Brit in the corner. "YOU'RE HUNGOVER AGAIN? This is a WORKPLACE, NOT A PUB, MR. KIRKLAND, AND I EXPECT YOU TO ACT AS SUCH-"

"Dude, Ludwig, you're totally like, fuming man! Maybe you need to go have another beer yourself, bro!" shouted Alfred in response, following it up with a boisterous laugh.

And then, the plot happened.

The door _creaked _open, and in walked the receptionist, Mr. Matthew Williams. His codename...well, he didn't have one, honestly. He didn't really deserve one, either, because he never did anything. At least, nothing noticable.

Every morning, he would say hello to Mr. Kirkland, because he was the only one who, he felt, appreciated him - although he didn't. At all.

"Um, guys...a Mr. Lavino Vargas is here...and...um...guys?"

Everyone turned their attention to him, which honestly frightened him because it was a first. He tried to speak louder, but he was vocally dyslexic, so it just ended up coming out even quieter.

"I-I said...Lavino...Vargas...is he-"

"YO. WHAT UP, MY MUTHAFUCKAS?"

Slamming the door open and, for the twenty-first time today breaking company policy, in came the non-employee Lavino Vargas. Upon his arrival, the boss suddenly entered as well and, from the looks of it, had been previously sleeping in his office.

"Big brother~"

Lavino turned to him, and grunted in response.

"Big brother, I haven't seen you in so long! I was just thinking about you, though, you know~ I was thinking about how the other night when I made Linguini and how it was your favorite when you were li-oh wait, that was me-well, anyways, it made me think about you~"

"Hello, Feliciano," he groaned in a sarcastically-happy tone.

Ludwig took the following awkward silence as an opportunity to yell at a potential customer.

"Please state your business or leave! We are trying to run a business here!"

"Well maybe I'll just _take_ my business and leave! Snap, snap!" Lavino the Latino's snapping accompanied the last two words. Alfred shoved the obviously incompetent Ludwig out of the way.

Laughing nervously, he said, "Don't mind him! He's a party pooper!" —("Well then he shouldn't really be working as a party planner, now should he?")—"_I_, however, am all you could ever ask for! _I_ will be the hero of the event you're planning, the _life_ of your party!"

"...Would it be possible for you to plan this party without him knowing that I'm the one in charge?"

"Haha, of course!" Alfred yelled in reply. "Mainly because you _won't_ be the one in charge!"

After briefly thinking it over, Lavino stared im in the eye and asked, "_How much_?" in much the same way that you would ask a prostitute.

With everyone else feeling mildly uncomfortable for him, Alfred simply scratched his chin in thought (feeling sophisticated) and realized that he had absolutely no fucking idea. "Huh...I don't know, Bro. I don't think we've ever actually had a customer before..." Turning towards the rest of the staff, he asked, "Does anyone know how much we charge?"

"We charge _one million dollars!_ And I take the biggest cut!" Arthur yelled, jumping up and suddenly getting over his supposedly terrible hangover.

Rolling his eyes, Francis said, "Don't listen to him, _Il est stupide_. We charge one _billion_, like a _normal_ party planning company."

After breifly losing hope, Lavino looked at his brother. "Haha, they are silly~!" Feliciano said, "We charge two dollars and _a whole fifty cents~_! I am sorry it is so expensive, Brother~! Please don't hurt me~!"

Shoving Alfred away from their hopefully paying customer, Ludwig screamed at everyone to shut up before turning to the man. "It is one hundred dollars plus the cost of all of the items for the party! Do not listen to them! If you want alcoholic beverages, it is one hundred fifty dollars unless you are willing to share! No refunds!"

"Well _okay then_, Mister Angry."(Arthur quickly marked this down as a new codename for Ludwig.)

"Do we have a deal or _not_?" he asked, lowering his voice since he didn't want to offend someone who would be giving them real money.

"Hmm... I _suppose_."

"So Big Brother, who is this party for~?" Feliciano asked before leaning in and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he asked, "A _girlfriend_~?"

"NO. DEFINITELY NOT. COMPLETE OPPOSITE, YOU NINCOMPOOP."

"A boyfriend~?"

"NO, YOU ASSFUCK. It's for _Antonio_. And the only reason I'm even throwing him a party is because I know no one else will!"

Briefly, everyone wondered how bad they should feel since, technically, they owned a party planning business and they didn't even consider it.

(Also, I feel it should be mentioned that Matthew has been in the room the entire time and was planning a party for Antonio. He is also wearing a red sweatshirt that says "Fe-y" because it's full of irony. Haha, no one else cares either.)

"That's so nice of you, Big Brother~~ The International League of Party Planning will happily take your money to survive off of until we have another customer~! Do you have a theme in mind~?"

"...A theme party? The theme is _birthday_. Do what you will," he replied before pulling out one hundred dollars from his wallet. He had gone to the ATM.

And then, without exchanging another word, he left. Normally, it would have been obvious to leave the address of the party for them, but everyone knew Antonio, so it was alright.

"So...now we have to think of a theme..." Arthur mumbled, massaging his temple in an annoyed-sort of way.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm feeling _purple_ as a theme..." Francis chipped in. Everyone shook their head.

"Definately not," replied Alfred. "I think we should have like, a cross between Aliens and a Rave party, with music videos inspired by Star Trek."

"Antonio would definately NOT find that amusing," Francis replied, bothered that his idea had been so utterly refused.

"How about tomatoes~" Feliciano chipped in. "I mean, everything could be all red and all the food could be~"

"TOMATOES ARE NOT A THEME," Arthur argued, regaining his migraine. "I think we should go with something more refined...something where everyone dresses up and listens to classical music while discussing the-"

"Purple," Francis interrupted.

"Ludwig, what do you think~?" Feliciano asked.

"Um...I'm not so good with themes...perhaps we could be-"

"Hey, I've got a great idea! We could be pirates!" Arthur yelled over him.

"That's stupid," Francis replied.

"Why don't we just buy some tables and put some beer on them?" Ludwig re-interrupted. "I mean, that would turn things into a party rather quickly, now wouldn't it?"

"But he didn't give us alcohol money!" Alfred disagreed.

"Then he must be willing to share," Ludwig replied. "It's not a party, after all, if there is no alcohol."

The rhyme disgusted Alfred on a deep level.

"But we want him to actually REMEMBER the party the next day, you...you...oh, what would a German say...you dummkopf!"

Ludwig shook his head and looked back towards Feliciano.

"Do you have any ideas besides tomatoes?"

"Spaghetti~! Like, a spaghetti fighting party or something funny to watch and take pictures of~! It could go on the book of faces, yeah~"

"You mean FACEBOOK? Puh-leeeze, guys, everyone knows that TUMBLR is the new Facebook! Even Twitter's better than that ole' bag of shit!"

"Didn't you just update your status like, five minutes ago?" Arthur replied. "And whatever happened to Myspa-"

"Shh. We don't like to talk about that."

Ignoring the exchange, Francis began drawing up plans for the Ultimate Purple Bash of the Century. Ludwig promptly grabbed the sheet of paper and ripped it into nein different pieces. "We are not doing purple!"

"Then how about we appreciate women by having a Victoria Secret fashion show at the party?" he suggested.

Alfred raised his hand and said, "I would _totally_ go to _that_ party!"

Face-palming, the German man stopped listening to them and instead turned back to their fearful leader. "Feliciano, it's your company. Come up with some ideas that aren't stupid. Or food-based."

"How about an entirely white party that we throw red paint at to make it look like sauce splattering? And then we feed people spaghetti~."

"I said not food-based."

"You _also_ said that it's my company. (Yeah, that's right, no squiggle~. What up, Ludwig~?)"

"My mother always told me that if I wanted to do something right, I should just do it myself. She knew I was better than all of you. And I do too."

"WELL YOUR MOTHER WAS A HAMSTER!" Francis said, who was listening to their conversation, having nothing better to do.

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY? _Du bist 'ne Schlampe! Deine Oma masturbiert im stehen!_"

"...What? I don't understand your strange words."

Creepy Asian Guy, who was in fact there the entire time, translated as Ludwig left the room to get some hydrogen and oxygen. "From what I know of German," the usually quiet man began, "I believe he said that you are a slut and that your grandmother masturbates standing up."

Not knowing what to do, Francis stared at Kiku. He thought that maybe, since he was the creepy Asian guy, he would have some worldly knowledge of how to react in these types of situations.

He simply stared back.

"Anyways," Arthur continued, talking to everyone, ignoring the mildly uncomfortable silence. His hangover seemed to be coming and going now-a-days. "I think we should get a horse for the party."

"Aw, man, that's stupid!" Alfred yelled at him. "Who wants a smelly horse at a wild, alien, rave party?"

"I think," Kiku spoke up once again. "That we should focus the party around something everyone enjoys. Such as video games and hentai."

"Sounds like a plan, Bro! But where does that fit in with the aliens?"

"In Japan, we have very many hentai games that focus on very many things. Do you consider large octopuses that lactate lasers and enjoy the bodies of young girls to be alien-like?"

"...Are they from Mexico?"

"No. They are from sewers."

"...So... That's _not_ Mexico?"

"Asshole, what the fuck, why are you so bloody racist all the damn time?" Arthur yelled at him, apparently in a bad mood again.

"I thought we only couldn't insult them if they were... African American."

His eye twitching, Arthur stared at him for a long time. "You know, there are some things that I've kept to myself over the years. The lack of a larger paycheck was concerning, and then there was all of the sexual harrasment from Francis when he's drunk, but I think I'm through with it. You, Alfred, I have called an asshole many times. However, you are not just any asshole, you are _The_ Asshole. And _you_, Francis, you are The Manwhore. And I bloody fucking hate all of you.

"Kiku, you motherfucker, all you do is try and learn how to be like The Manwhore, maybe you should first learn to speak some motherfucking English because you'll _never_ need to know how to speak German, Creepy Asian Man."

"...Man?" Kiku questioned, confused. He had only ever heard Creepy Asian Guy. It was uncomfortable and troublesome.

"You know what, Mario?" Arthur continued, turning towards Feliciano and ignoring Kiku. "I _quit_. It's been years, but I can still flower arrange like it's nobody but the queen's (and, by extension, Elton John's) business. PEACE OUT, YA WANKERS." He then proceeded to beat on his chest twice and then extend both middle fingers which he left up until they could no longer see him.

On his way out of the front door, Arthur ran into Ludwig. "And _you_, Mein Kompf-y Chairman! Oh, I've got something special for you, Vienna Sausage! All of the time I've been working here, it's been _your_ fault that it was such a terrible experience, you _walking gas chamber_! Everyday, all you would ever do is _yell_ and yell! Do you not get tired of it, eventually or were your ancestors _such_ Nazis that your vocal chords are just adjusted to it? You slick your hair back like you're from some strange 60s movie. It's not cool. It was never cool and that's why you're a _weird_ 60's kid.

"I'm out of here! Seig heil, Bitch!"

Getting into the conviently located cab, he drove off into the sunset, leaving the German man to wonder what the fuck just happened.

Later, when he went back inside after getting more fresh hydrogen and oxygen, he quit. Because what the fuck.

That left Francis, Alfred, Kiku, Feliciano, and Matthew. Feliciano promptly left to follow Ludwig into the sunset because he was his best friend ever.

That left Francis, Alfred, Kiku, and Matthew. "...Purple," Francis said before standing up from his chair, flipping his hair like manly, and leaving. It was assumed that he would not be back.

That left Alfred, Kiku, and Matthew.

"This sucks, Bro!" Alfred said to Kiku, who was the only one left to talk to. "You know what, I said I would be the hero of this party and dag nabbit, I will be!" Standing up from his chair and marching towards the door, he screamed, "I'M THE HERO! I DON'T NEED Y'ALLS SOUP."

"Wait! Please do not leave me here alone!" Kiku yelled, quickly following after him. He didn't really care what the party was anyways.

That left Matthew.

"I... I'm still here, guys..." he called after him. As they left, they turned off the lights and locked the door.

* * *

"Alright, Bro, it's me and you, Creepy Asian Guy! We're going to be the first ones to decorate this place and Antonio will shower us with grace! It will be his best birthday ever and it'll be all because of us!"

Walking into the house (who's door was left wide open so bugs could easily make their way in), they looked around and their eyes widened.

"Holy shit," Alfred said, looking around in awe. He stared at the room for a while but then snapped out of it to look at the time. "Dude, quick! Stick the alien stickers to the wall! We don't have much time!"

They proceeded to hook up fourty-two strobe lights in one room. Unfortunately, they all went off and on at different times so it was pretty much bright all the time and it didn't change. At all.

The alien stickers were stuck to the wall in a random fashion and every Katy Perry "E.T." remix that Alfred could find on iTunes began playing out of the small radio that he had also brought along, blending in with the classical music that was playing before they got there.

Looking around, Alfred would say that he and Creepy Asian Guy did a pretty great job for only having ten minutes.

Everyone else that was there was also incredibly impressed with how fast they set up the strobe lights. Even if they violently fucked up the timing.

It was only seconds after the last alien was pasted to the wall that they heard a key in the front door.

"Quick everyone!" Alfred yelled, urgently. "He's coming! Hide!"

As fast as humanly possible, they jumped behind couches and chairs that were around them.

"Hide?" Kiku asked, confused. However, everyone was already hiding and could not answer him. Pulling out his pocket English-to-Japanese dictionary, he began flipping through it to find the word "hide".

He was still flipping through the book when the door swang open and Antonio walked in. It isn't everyday that you come home to find an Asian man standing in your living room. Especially when your living room looked the way his did.

The living room was usually quite spacious and filled with modern furniture, with also plenty of room to do random activities in the middle of the floor. Now, however, it was painted purple. This was not normal, as it was typically black and white. As well as the strange purple, there were also strange tables. In the middle of the floor, there were approximately seven tables that each had beer on them and bowls of spaghetti. This was also not normal.

Then there was the awkward mixture of classical music and Katy Perry remixes and what sounded like a puppy being stepped on. Or hentai. One or the other, maybe even both. It was particulary bright in the room, which was also strange because he only had one lamp and it was cloudy outside. To his right, were multiple alien stickers, most of which were overlapping one another as if they were just haphazardly thrown on the wall.

He looked back at Kiku. Feeling a pair of eyes on him, the man looked up from his dictionary. "Oh, hello," he greeted before looking back down at the dictionary. He then found the word "hide" and saw the translation. "Oh!" he exclaimed before dropping the dictionary and doing a backflip so he was also behind the couch.

"Surprise!" yelled Matthew, handing him a new soccer ball. "Happy birthday!"

"Thank you, whoever you are? But it's not—"

"Surprise!" everyone else yelled, jumping out. "Happy birthday!" There was a mixture of people in alien costumes, formal wear, and purple skin suits.

"What's going on?"

"We threw you a birthday party!" Francis told him.

"...Why?"

"Because we're party planners~!"

"So, hey dudes, just a question," Alfred began. "What made you all decide to do this party?"

"Well," Matthew began in his quiet voice. "I was actually planning this all alon—"

"It needed to be purple," Francis informed Alfred. "That's why I'm here."

Scoffing, Arthur said, "I could really use the money, nancy-boy."

"I am here 'cause I own the place~!"

Ludwig put his hand on Feliciano and Alfred's shoulders. "Well, let's face it, guys," he began. "We're here because we were hired to do something and we aren't quitters even though most of us technically quit, we didn't really mean that. It was just...a foolish argument among men. And we did the right thing by setting it aside for the good of the party. For the good of Antonio, here...This whole thing, this whole place, is it not sort of a spectacular idea? It's as if we were all intertwined by destiny to do this, right here, right now. We're all incredibly different people, and we're coming to realize that, but I guess, maybe, we're all the same in a sort of way. And when we work together, we've learned that we can acheive the impossible. Hell, who knows what we could accomplish if we worked together like this all the time? You see, deep down inside, we're one and the same - you and me, Feliciano, Francis, Arthur and all the rest...yes...deep down inside, we're all party people."

"Guys," Antonio interrupted as most of the men slowly made their way into tears and depression-filled-happiness.

"Wh-what~?" Feliciano asked, being the only one actually crying.

"It's...seriously not my birthday."

"...What?" asked a very confused and, somewhere within his frightening shell of a body, saddened Ludwig.

"Yeah. In fact, there is absolutely nothing special about today. At all. I just got back from the grocery store...that's it. For real. And, seriously, _why_ is it _so bright _in here...?"

Looking up towards the ceiling, he was met with the sight of fourty two strobe lights, each one going off at a different time. His body began convulsing, he threw up, and then passed out.

"...Did we just give a guy a seizure on his birthday?" Alfred asked, having not paid attention to anything that just happened except for the end.

"I... I think so," Arthur replied, feeling slightly sick.

"Holy pasta, we're the best party planners ever~!" Feliciano exclaimed, jumping into the air with both thumbs up. After he came down, he gathered everyone around him and they all put their hands in the middle of the circle. "Go International League of Party Planning~!"

* * *

End. :)

* * *

**notes**— Hello, mein beautiful children. It was a wonderful experience getting to work on this story with my good friends. It is currently 4:16 fucking AM. We're running on Mountain Dew Throwback. We started this God-forsaken story around twelve. If you have anything to say about how we are racist: we know. So please don't inform us.

If you have something nice to say, drop that review my way, dawg 'cause I know you're bringing sexyback.

-Killermay


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